Chapter 18
EIGHTEEN
Hollie
Ishifted the heavy plastic tub in my arms as I waddled across the gravel barnyard to put the leftovers in the cowboy refrigerator.
I couldn’t wrap my brain around the fact that it was Wednesday already—the past two days had flown by.
I veered to the left side of the barn toward the shed-turned-tinyhouse that everyone called “the bunkhouse.”
Like I had done every day, I climbed the three bunkhouse steps, gave a courtesy knock even though I knew the cowboys were working, and pushed my way inside.
The interior had an open layout, with long bunk beds on one side, a TV and couch in the middle, and a kitchenette on the other side.
Both beds were unmade and several dishes sat in the sink.
I hefted my plastic tub onto the floor in front of the fridge, and unpacked leftover sausage, cut fruit, yogurt, pasta from dinner the night before, a jug of milk and sweet tea.
The cowboys didn’t usually have a sit down lunch, but would hit the leftovers throughout the day.
Afterward, I flipped the sink on and washed up their dishes. No one had asked me to. I just figured they probably wouldn’t feel up to it after spending twelve hours in the sun.
As I scrubbed, I let my eyes wander the room for a moment until they landed on something I’d never noticed in the room before.
A camera sitting on the bed.
Looked like a professional one with a giant lens.
Huh.
It seemed so out of place. I couldn’t imagine Harlan or Cooper using it.
I swiped my wet hands on my jeans and stepped across the room until I stood before the bed.
The need to know what kind of pictures were on it coursed through my body until I knelt beside the mattress and picked it up.
I examined it until I found the power button, then the playback.
The first picture in the memory was of…
A bird?
An audible “what?” lifted from my lips as I frowned in confusion.
Not only was the picture insanely close up, but the colors were brilliant and the focus was perfect. The bird perched on a branch, its dust-brown feathers puffed cozily. Before I could flip to the next picture, the bunkhouse door swung open.
Panicking, I hit the power button as my heart flew to my throat.
I put the camera back on the bed and scrambled to get upright, hoping that whoever walked in the room hadn’t seen me snooping.
But then the person asked, “What are you doing?”
My eyes lifted.
Cooper stood there, hands on his hips, the door left wide open behind him.
His long hair was pulled back into a low bun, a backwards cap settled on his head.
His jeans and faded blue t-shirt were dusty, sweat-drenched from a day in the sun.
I noted that he had a sleeve on again. In fact, every time I’d seen him, he wore a long sleeve shirt or a nude colored nylon sleeve on his left forearm.
I wondered if he had an obscene tattoo or something.
“Um. I was just—”
“That’s my camera.”
“Oh.” My voice sounded small. “Is it?”
“Well, it sure as hell isn’t yours.”
“I’m sorry.” I shook my head. “I used to dabble in photography, but it’s been a long time. Curiosity got the best of me.”
Cooper’s grey eyes roamed my face, making calculations—of what, I couldn’t be sure.
“It’s a really nice camera, Cooper. I had no idea you took pictures.”
His shoulders dropped an inch as his eyes cut away. “Yeah, well, it should’ve stayed that way.”
“You don’t want people to know?”
“No.”
“Why? The one picture I got to see was good.”
His eyes jumped to my face again, the scrutiny waning a little. “You said you used to do photography?”
I gave a nervous laugh, waving a hand. “Hardly. I just bought myself a semi-nice-ish camera and took pictures of my newborn for a photo album because I was bored. But I know a little bit about it.”
One side of his lips quirked with a fleeting smile. “That’s cool.”
“Where did you learn?”
“YouTube.”
My voice lifted in surprise. “Really?”
“You can learn anything on YouTube.”
“Interesting.” I hesitated a moment, unsure if I should make my exit or keep pressing.
Overall, my initial impression of Cooper had been troublemaker.
But, I couldn’t deny that something drew me to him.
He felt like a puzzle—a mystery to solve.
His expression always teetered between boyish and hopeful to stormy and hardened.
Even now, the way he looked at me, I couldn’t figure out if he viewed me as predator or prey.
I decided to push. “Can I see more?”
His grey eyes widened. “Of my pictures?”
“Yeah.” I lifted a shoulder, trying to appear nonchalant even though my heart thrummed in my chest.
“Uh, sure.” He stepped around me and went to the bed, his scuffed hands scooping up the camera. He powered it on, hit the playback then handed it to me. Something in my spirit told me he’d just handed me a huge piece of his world, and I determined to be careful with it.
I gently held the camera, hitting the back arrow to the second picture.
It was a robin with a bug squished in its peak.
An audible gasp lifted from my lips at the details—the bug’s wings and legs askew, the bird’s feathers ruffled, like they’d just had a tussle.
“Cooper.” His name was breathless on my lips. “This is amazing.”
I flipped to the third—a bird with a long beak and red head. Probably a woodpecker.
The next several pictures were of a nest wedged in a rock crevice. Tiny bird heads had their mouth opens as a mother and father bird fed them. The pictures alternated. Mother feeding. Father feeding. The detail was incredible. I wondered how long Cooper would’ve had to watch to capture all of them.
“What kind of birds are these?”
Cooper leaned closer to look at the screen. “Uh, those are European Starlings.”
I flipped for a few more minutes while Cooper quietly waited. I felt his eyes on me but didn’t meet his gaze. “Do you only take pictures of birds?”
“Yep.”
“Why birds?”
He drew a breath. “I’m…not sure. I just like them.”
I glanced up, running my gaze over the man before me. Nothing about him screamed bird watcher, but most of us weren’t what we first seemed. I knew I wasn’t.
“What’s your favorite type?” His question surprised me.
I twisted my lips in thought. “I’ve never really thought about it, honestly. I like the color blue. So, maybe bluejays?”
“Here.” He gently relieved me of the camera and squinted as he repeatedly tapped the back button. Then he turned it toward me again to show a picture of a blue bird with an orange breast atop a wooden fence.
“Wow.” I breathed out the word. “What is this?”
“That’s an Eastern Bluebird.”
“Amazing. The color is perfect. Do you have a favorite bird?”
“Hummingbirds.”
“Oh, they’re beautiful. What do you like about hummingbirds?”
He shrugged like he didn’t really know. “Nostalgia, I guess.”
“Did you get them where you grew up?”
He paused then turned toward the sink to peer at the clean dishes. “We didn’t have any feeders for them, but the guy who owned a market down the street had a hummingbird feeder out back. Tag always bought me candy there.”
“Candy and hummingbirds. Sounds like a great memory.”
“Not too bad.” He gave me a half smile. “Thanks for doing the dishes.”
“Yeah, no problem. Hopefully it makes up for my snooping.”
That made him breathe a chuckle. “It’s fine. Keep the pictures between us though.”
“Promise.” I crossed my heart and tried to ignore the fact that his eyes lingered on my chest after the action then quickly ran down my body.
He smirked, not hiding that he checked me out. “I should go. Jesse would tie me up with Breakneck if he knew I was in here with you.”
I stiffened, not sure what that meant. “Uh, yeah, I need to get back to the girls. I dropped some leftovers in the fridge.”
“Thanks.” As I left, he pulled the jug of tea out of the refrigerator. “Oh by the way, the food’s been good. Better than Bea’s.”
Halfway out the door, I stifled a giggle. “I’m going to tell her you said that.”
“Don’t bother. I already told her myself.” He lifted the jug straight to his lips.
After crossing the barnyard again, I found the girls where I left them. Playing on the porch with their Barbies.
“Mommy!” Nora shouted at me.
“Yes?” I climbed the stairs.
“Frienda is going to ride a horse today.” She held up a frazzle-haired doll with “make up” that constituted of black permanent marker streaks around her eyes.
“Is she? That’s cool. I hope Frienda has fun.”
A soft giggle sounded from the swing. Bea leaned against the chains on the porch swing with her bare feet tucked in beside her. She had a cap low on her forehead and her hair was pulled into a ponytail beneath it, the strands tangled. Her hands clutched a bottle of red Gatorade in her lap.
I made my way over and eased into the swing beside her. “How you feeling?”
She hummed. “Like a ship tossed at sea.”
I fought the urge to push with my feet, planting them on the planks instead. “Have you kept the pretzels down?”
“Yep. For about twenty-five minutes.”
Better than her typical five or ten, I supposed.
I brought food to Bea constantly. A few bites here, a few bites there.
She was so thankful to have someone to brave the kitchen for her, and even though she was willing to eat, her body never let her keep anything for long.
Her next appointment was in two weeks, and the girls and I would be taking her, which worked out perfectly because I was ready to throttle some doctors.
Her voice sounded scratchy. “So who looks worse? Me or Frienda?”
A rip of laughter pulled out of my chest. And I marveled that my sister still had a sense of humor at a time like this. I croaked, “Don’t worry. Definitely Frienda.”
“She looks like she needs a spa day.”
“A spa day can’t help her. She’s beyond that.”
“Hmm. Plastic surgery then. And hair transplants.”
I giggled at Bea. “I don’t know why the girls draw on everything.”
She huffed a laugh. “They are so sweet, Holls.”